


Three Sentence Ficathon Fills

by Tieleen



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Leverage, One Direction (Band), Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: 3 Sentence Ficathon, 3 Sentence Fiction, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, Not a Crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-06
Updated: 2013-06-06
Packaged: 2017-12-14 03:11:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/832031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tieleen/pseuds/Tieleen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt fills for the <a href="http://rthstewart.dreamwidth.org/tag/3+sentence+ficathon">3 Sentence Ficathon</a>. Features the answer to the question 'so how long can you make a sentence last, really?'</p><p>In case you saw the fandom tags and hoped for the most cracktastic crossover imaginable: sorry. I'm always disappointed by that, too. (For what it's worth, I think Bruce and Jane Bennet would get along like a house on fire. Possibly literally, after he helps her discover any repressed rage issues she might have.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Sentence Ficathon Fills

_Pride and Prejudice, Jane, forgiveness_

Forgiveness has always been in her nature: sweet Jane, understanding Jane, unruffled Jane, whose ease in seeing beyond small hurts surely meant she didn't feel them in the first place.

It was always Elizabeth's part to remember and to laugh, and Jane's part to forget and to soothe -- and she never quite thought, before, that perhaps Elizabeth's mocking eyes were made ever more possible by Jane's soft words to hold her back from going too far; and she never quite thought, before, that perhaps her own tender heart was allowed to remain as it was by Elizabeth's wit, armor and sword held at the ready to protect her sister as well as herself.

Netherfield and Pemberly are not so far from each other as all that, and Jane has a sweet, understanding, unruffled husband to protect her now, of course -- and yet, she thinks, as her new sisters smile down at her with their life-like masks of friendship and kindness, as she smiles back and forgives them in truth (because her armor will never be the same as Elizabeth's, not any more than her sword could be) -- perhaps this is just about time she started learning how to protect herself.

*

_Avengers, Bruce/Natasha, //so what, you've had one too many/so what, I'm not that much fun to be with//_

"Yes," Bruce said, sighing into his drink, "this was a great idea, Clint, I appreciate it."

"She did say she wanted to let off some steam," Clint said, unconcerned; he ducked down a little as a body came sailing over his head, just enough that it didn't hit him, and nodded to himself in satisfaction, sipping his own drink.

"Yes, but somehow I thought there were other ways to handle that than start a bar fight for her," Bruce said, then snorted when Clint looked far too interested, "although apparently this method is more appealing -- you know, you could at least go help her --" but he gave up when Clint just gave him an incredulous look.

*

_One Direction, Liam/Louis, tell me something new_

(Uni AU!)

Lying on their backs on the green grass, the park bright and sunny and busy all around them, Liam's arm under Louis' head and Louis playing with the fingers of Liam's other hand -- they've done some variation on this a thousand times: Louis' leg thrown carelessly wherever it will go, so it's only coincidence that it ends up trapping Liam even more effectively, like always; and Louis' smile threatening to break Liam's resolve when he starts talking about heading back before they're late for class, like always; and Liam's breath caught in his throat when Louis wriggles closer and rolls so his nose is buried in Liam's neck, body plastered to his side, and makes wordless sounds of protest that sound a little too... a little too something for Liam's comfort.

"No," Louis says, and "let's stay," Louis says, and "Harry can get notes from somebody, Harry knows everyone," Louis says; and when he finally takes his nose out from where it's traveled, up to just under Liam's ear, ticklish and uncomfortable and putting him on edge, he says, "It's a beautiful day, Liam, we can't go to _class_ \-- tell me a story, tell me something new."

And Liam smiles helplessly, rolling his eyes when Louis whoops in delight and smacks a kiss onto his chin, already sensing his victory, his inevitable destined victory, or really, Liam's inevitable destined defeat; and Liam clenches his hand into a fist and bites his lip against any words that might come, just in case, just in case -- there's nothing new to say, really, nothing new at all.

*

_Doctor Who (2005), Ten and Martha, "my mistress's eyes are nothing like the sun"_

In the beginning he seems perfect -- this thing wild and new, a whole universe in his palm, inside his box, in his crooked grin when he looks through her but still seems happy that she's there beside him; even his clear imperfections are perfect, somehow, part of a flawed flawless whole.

Slowly it shifts, so that his failings and his missing places are truly what they are -- not a story, not a dream of adventure; just a man, a man who doesn't always hold the world inside his hand quite carefully enough, whose box is vast but sometimes too small for anyone else, who can't be trusted with her heart; and Martha loves the reality of him, the arrogance and vanity and alienness, the stubbornly blind hope and the tarnished faith in others, the lengths he will go to in the name of good causes and sometimes bad ones, too.

And perhaps it's simply a thing that spreads, once you stop listening to the stories you tell yourself and start looking at truths -- perhaps it's a habit she fine-tuned when she was walking the world, everything broken and ruined and still good enough to warrant saving, but surely it started back there in that blue box with the man who never held her heart quite carefully enough; once she saw all his shortcomings, saw and minded and didn't look away, and knew that he was still good enough -- once she walked the world, and talked to people, and saw what humans sometimes did when things were bad, and they were still good enough -- maybe it was inevitable that she'd look at herself and pass the same judgment, give the same kindness, and judge herself to be good enough as well.

*

_Leverage, Parker/Eliot/Hardison, future!fic_

" _You_ wanted to travel -- I said, 'Hardison, what do you want us to do for your birthday?' and _you_ said, 'Here's a reference that makes no sense to something nobody else ever heard about, take me someplace awesome'; least you could do is stop complaining for five minutes about something you asked for in the first place."

"No, _you_ said 'Yeah, better tell us what you want for your birthday, I already know we'll hear about it until next year if we don't plan ahead, you're like a five year old' -- real gracious, by the way, I could feel the love -- and I saw you nodding, woman, don't even go giving me that look -- and _I_ didn't once say 'Oh yeah, please take me someplace where the police are after Parker for something she won't even explain and where people keep breaking into our hotel room and _trying to kill us_ because you tried to take over their country or something' -- no, shut up, I don't care if you helped liberate it, you don't get to talk."

"I told you we should just steal DragonCon for him," Parker said, and whatever the fuck that was she must have gotten it right, because Hardison left off bitching and turned to her with damn near visible cartoon hearts in his eyes; and that might have been a sweet resolution ending with less headache and more sexy good times for everyone, but then Eliot noticed the glint of a red dot on Parker's hair and had to leap and tackle them both to the ground, grumbling to himself all the way over Hardison's shouting and not even copping a feel because he was a damn pro.


End file.
